She’d suggested to Mick that they split up, watch from two different vantage points, thus increasing the possibility of catching something before it happened. But Mick had insisted on staying with her. Nothing she said would convince him otherwise, even though there was no way this was personal. There were so many easier—and surer—ways of getting to her than targeting photo subjects one month at a time over the course of a year. It was completely possible she would never have made the connection at all. No, the “personal” shoe just didn’t fit.
As she watched, afraid to even blink for fear of missing something, the possible “accidents” tumbled and twirled in her mind, riding and rolling on the boom of cannon fire, until she was nauseous. Misfiring rifle. Someone substituting modern-day black powder for Pyrodex. There were hundreds of ways artillery equipment could be made to malfunction.
Mick had repeatedly reassured her that there were safety checks to prevent such things from happening. Which only made her mind shift to other possible dangers. Horse spooked into throwing a rider. How about someone actually using one of those bayonets? With all of the commotion, it could easily happen and not be noticed until long after the attacker disappeared. Her thoughts grew wilder. Maybe the guy was standing in the woods with a live, modern-day hand grenade. He could lob it into the fray and it would be several minutes before things were sorted out enough to look for him.
All because I took a picture.
She must have swayed, because Mick put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her back against his chest.
Suddenly a thought occurred to her. What if the culprit didn’t do whatever he was going to do today? There was another full day tomorrow, with another battle reenactment. Oh, God, she didn’t think she could stand going through this again.
Just before she turned to say this to Mick, a massive explosion ripped through the air. The concussion whooshed around her body. Before she could blink, Mick knocked her to the ground, spreading his body over hers.
She tried to lift her head to see what was happening, but Mick’s big hand pressed her head back down.
“Let me up!” She squirmed and pushed. She had to see what was happening, if someone was fleeing the scene. She was the only one who’d seen the man at the football game.
He lifted himself, but hovered protectively over her. “You hurt?”
“No.” She pushed her hair out of her face and looked onto the field. She saw nothing but chaos and smoke.
Safety crews and other reenactors rushed to the artillery unit nearest Caroline. She started to scramble to her feet and move toward the disaster, but Mick held her still. “They’re trained for this. Let them do their work.”
From where she was, she couldn’t tell if anyone was hurt; there was too much smoke and chaotic movement.
She clutched at Mick, her heart thudding and breath catching. “Did you see anything?”
He said, “I was looking right at it when it blew—the limber back behind the nearest cannon. I didn’t see anyone or anything that seemed out of place.”
Dear heaven, the limber. This early in the reenactment, it had to have been full of black powder charges. How much force would that produce? Thank God they didn’t use actual shot in these things or that would have blown in every direction, and who knows how many would have been injured.
Several other spectators were on the ground. Wounded? Or, like her and Mick, in response to the blast? She looked carefully. Everyone was moving, apparently unhurt.
As for the artillery unit, Caroline had to wait to learn of the damage and injuries just like everyone else. Unlike everyone else, she bore a horrible burden of responsibility for this violence.
It was a long and sickening hour before they had an answer. Two reenactors had been taken to the hospital; several others were being treated on location. No one had any idea how the explosion happened—except Caroline and Mick. They had gone to the state police on-site and told them what they suspected.
The sun was low in the sky by the time Mick walked Caroline to her car.
“Are you sure you feel like driving?” he asked, smoothing her hair back from her face. Her jeans and the entire front of her jacket were smeared with mud. She was cold to the marrow of her bones, and every joint in her body ached from tension. Mick couldn’t be feeling much better.
“Car won’t get home by itself.” She tried to make light; they’d had enough darkness today.
“I could leave mine here and come back for it tomorrow.”
“It’s over two hours to Redbud Mill.”
He shrugged, as if four extra hours on the road was no inconvenience.
She kissed his cheek. “I’m fine to drive.”
“I’m parked clear over there,” he said, pointing. “Wait for me at the main road and I’ll follow you home.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but nodded instead. In truth, she was exhausted and didn’t particularly want to be alone for two hours. Having Mick in her rearview mirror would be very comforting.
It was dark when they reached Redbud Mill. Mick’s headlights had been steady in Caroline’s rearview mirror the whole way; the distant support was more reassuring than she could have predicted. The chill of the day had not left her, even though she’d driven the entire two hours with the heater going full blast.
Mick followed her through town, all the way to her house. She pulled in the driveway, then got out and walked to where his truck sat at the curb. She stopped by the open driver’s window.
“Want to come in?” she asked, her breath clouding in the already damp air.
“Yes, I do. But I have to get out to the farm. Cows need me.”
She nearly said, I need you, but kept her mouth shut. This had been a bizarre and emotional day. She needed to think before she spoke such words.
He said, “I’ll wait until you’re inside.”
“He’s not after me.” Why couldn’t Mick see that?
“I’ll still wait.” He reached for the ignition key. “Maybe I should go in to check the place.”
“Macie’s home; I can see the TV’s on. She should have been here all afternoon. Nobody is waiting to attack me.” She kept her tone light, showing him how ridiculous the idea was.
“It never hurts to be cautious.” He reached out the truck window and grabbed her arm. Pulling her close, he kissed her.
Her near-irresistible urge to crawl through the window and curl up in his lap took her by surprise. She was no stranger to trouble and strife. Normally when faced with a problem, she forged ahead alone, not wanting anyone distracting her from her purpose. But she could not imagine having gone through this day without Mick at her side. She took a step back from the truck, her hand lingering on the window frame. “Thanks… for being there today.”
He put his warm hand over her cold one and squeezed, giving no more response than a half-nod.
She pointed toward the driveway. “I’m going in the back door. The lock sticks on the front.”
He popped the driver’s door open. “I’ll walk you around.”
“Really, Mick.” Her protest was wasted.
He held her hand as he walked her up the drive and to her back door. There he pulled her close and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Take care of yourself. And get some sleep.”
With a dip of her chin, she left him standing in her dark backyard.
Once inside, she walked to the front of the house and watched him get back in his truck. He started it, but didn’t pull away. She flipped the porch light on and off to let him know she was inside safely.
Macie was asleep on the couch while an MTV reality show played too loudly on the television.
Caroline turned down the TV and Macie immediately woke up. “You’re home.”
“Lucky it’s me and not Jack the Ripper.”
“The doors were locked—I heard you come in anyway.”
Yeah, sure.
Macie’s eyes widened. “You been mud wrestling?”
She contemp
lated telling Macie why she’d been at the reenactment, and what had happened, but she just didn’t have the energy to go through it all tonight. “It was a real mess out there today. I slipped in the mud.” Close enough to the truth for now. “Hungry?” Caroline hoped the answer was no. She wanted nothing but a Tylenol, a hot shower, and bed.
“Nope. I actually managed to feed myself… without your help.”
“Okay, smarty-pants. How was practice?”
“Good.”
“What did you do this afternoon?”
“Studied for SATs.”
“Good girl.”
“Oh, yeah, Kent left a message on the machine.”
Caroline gave an inward groan. “When did he call?”
“Around three, I think. He wants you to call when you get in, no matter how late.”
“Three? And you didn’t pick up?” A warning tingle shot through Caroline.
“I was in the shower.” Macie didn’t appear the least uncomfortable or guilty, easing Caroline’s concern. Macie was a terrible liar.
She considered calling Kent and getting it over with, but couldn’t work up the fortitude. She started up the stairs. “Did you bring in the mail?”
“Oh, no. I forgot.” Macie started to get up off the couch.
Expecting a check from one of her wedding jobs, Caroline said, “I’ll get it.”
She used her shoulder to press against the front door to get the dead bolt to turn. Crossing the porch in the dark, she reached in the mailbox and pulled out the mail, then stooped to pick up the newspaper as she went back in.
She went into the kitchen and, by the night-light on the stove, flipped through the mail before she went upstairs.
Stuck halfway down the stack was a glossy brochure from the Perryville Battlefield reenactment. “Seems like they’d send these out the weekend before the event,” she muttered. Then she noticed there was no mailing label and something was written diagonally across it in black marker.
Her knees got weak and her throat went dry as she read the words: DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION YET?
Chapter 18
Caroline dropped the mail, her gaze darting to the back door. Had she locked it behind her?
Yes.
She ran to the living room. With undisguised panic in her voice she said, “Go upstairs and pack an overnight bag. I’m taking you to Laurel’s.”
Macie looked up from the television. “What?”
Caroline strode over and pulled her sister off the couch. “You’re spending the night at Laurel’s. There’s some crazy person vandalizing the things in my calendar pictures. He left a note in the mailbox. You can’t stay here until I figure out what’s going on.”
“Why would anyone—?”
“I don’t know. Until I do, I want you out of here.” She gave Macie a push toward the stairs. “Did you hear anyone on the porch this afternoon?” The mail didn’t come until one o’clock and the brochure was in the middle of the stack. He put it there after delivery. Which meant he came here directly after he set off that explosion.
Macie didn’t respond.
“Did you hear anyone on the porch this afternoon?” she repeated more emphatically.
Macie shook her head. “I don’t under—”
Caroline thrust her finger toward the upstairs. “Go! I’ll explain in the car.”
Macie was beginning to look really scared, but at least she hurried on upstairs. Caroline didn’t like frightening her, but a little fear could be a good thing when someone was sneaking around trying to hurt you.
Was he watching?
She closed all of the blinds, then paced as she called Laurel’s parents and explained the situation. When she hung up, she called upstairs, “Hurry up!” Although she was fairly sure no immediate danger lurked, she wanted Macie away from here.
Twenty minutes later, Caroline pulled away from the Bennett farm. She’d driven out there with a watchful eye on her rearview mirror and was certain she hadn’t been followed. Laurel’s parents were aware of the situation and would be cautious.
With Macie safe, Caroline’s panic lowered a notch, but it was far from gone.
As she drove down the road she’d lived on for twelve years, she held tight to the slight comfort that Macie’s photograph wasn’t until December. There was still time to figure this out. But she couldn’t do it alone.
Mick was the only person who truly understood the gravity of what was happening. Without thinking further, she pulled into the lane that led to her old homestead.
The lights were off in the barn, but on inside the house. She grabbed the brochure as she got out of the car, then hurried to the front door and rapped on the glass. She cupped her hand beside her eyes and tried to peer through the sheer curtains that shielded the entry hall and stairs from view. There wasn’t any movement.
She jogged around to the back door and knocked again. When she still didn’t get any response, she stepped back into the yard and looked at the upstairs windows. The bathroom light was on.
She pounded on the back door again. “Mick!”
After waiting a moment, she tried the knob and found it unlocked. Stepping inside the kitchen, she yelled, “Mick!” She headed toward the stairs. “Mick! Are you up there?”
She heard movement, but no response.
“Mick!” She went up the stairs.
Just as she reached the second floor, Mick stepped out of the bathroom into the hall wearing only a towel around his waist.
“Caroline!” He jerked in surprise. Then his face darkened with worry. “What’s happened?” He met her halfway down the hall, grabbing her by the shoulders.
When she opened her mouth, she found she couldn’t utter a sound around the lump of relief in her throat. She wasn’t alone in this. For the first time since her parents had died, she was sharing her fears with another person.
She held up the brochure in a tight fist.
He took it from her and read it. His brow creased, his lips tightened, and his gaze reminded her of thunder. “These were handed out in Perryville today. Where did he leave it?”
She licked her dry lips. “M-my mailbox.”
His grip tightened until the brochure quivered in his hand. “Today?”
She nodded. “Oh, God, I really didn’t believe… Macie was there alone!”
His gaze sharpened. “Where is she now?”
“At the Bennett farm.”
“Good. Did you report this to the police?”
She shook her head. “Only phone number operating this time of night is the emergency one.”
Lightning accompanied the thunder in his eyes. He shook the slick paper in front of her. “You don’t think this is an emergency?”
“Well—I guess I figured the guy was long gone, so I’d call and report it in the morning.”
“I suppose any evidence he left behind will still be there,” he said slowly, as if contemplating. “Where are you going to stay?”
With a confused blink, she said, “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Liar. You came here because you feel safe with him.
That thought scared her almost as much as facing a nameless stalker.
She calmed herself and said, “I’m going back home.”
“Not tonight, you’re not. If you don’t have another place to stay, stay here. It’s not like I don’t have plenty of spare rooms.”
“I really don’t think that’s neces—”
He interrupted. “And you didn’t think it was personal, either. You’re staying.” He paused and softened his voice. “That is, unless you have someplace else…”
She shook her head. Her independent spirit wanted to argue. She was a big girl and perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She could call the emergency number, inform the police, and ask them to make extra patrols past her house. But the idea of sleeping safe here in her old home, with Mick right across the hall, held infinitely more appeal than lying awake all night, listening to the creaks and groans of
her house and counting the minutes between police patrols.
“I’d appreciate staying,” she said in a voice so small it didn’t really sound like her own.
His gaze softened and he reached for her. She didn’t realize she was crying until he wiped the tears from her cheeks. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her against his bare chest, heedless of her muddy clothes. Her arms went around his waist, resting on the warm, moist towel. Until this moment, she hadn’t been aware of how truly afraid she was. He absorbed her fear as he absorbed the cold chill from her body. She felt safe for the first time since she’d found the brochure.
After a moment, he rubbed her back. “Why don’t you go take a shower. You’ll feel better.”
It had been a long time since anyone had taken care of her. It felt good, really good. She remembered, when she’d first come to this house as an eight-year-old, how difficult it had been to accept someone looking after her. Those years between caring for her natural mother and caring for her siblings were few, but they were precious.
And Mick had given her a moment of that lost feeling back. It was a gift beyond measure. Without thinking, she kissed his neck.
What began as a grateful caress with her lips soon became something more. She heard his intake of breath, felt the stiffening of his muscles. Sliding one hand up his chest, she trailed her lips along the pulse in the side of his neck, down to his collarbone.
He moved one hand from her back and held hers still against his chest, stopping her slow exploration. “You’re making it very hard for me to be a gentleman.” His voice was rough as he spoke the words into her hair.
She drew away and looked into his eyes. The blue burned with the heat of a gas flame, igniting fires deep within her own body. It would be so easy to let this moment race on to its natural conclusion. But easy wasn’t right. Easy wasn’t fair to Mick. She couldn’t let him think there was a future that would not exist. He was too kind, had been hurt too deeply already.
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